


a rock and a hard place

by nsfwena (enamuko)



Category: Nightside Series - Simon R. Green
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enamuko/pseuds/nsfwena
Summary: My name's John Taylor. The Nightside's very own Private Eye. I'm used to getting myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, and usually I can find my way out of it, with a little luck and a lot of cheating. But this time... I don't think I want to. [OR: Dead Boy and Razor Eddie give John the ride of his life, and John just lets himself be dragged along.]





	1. the rock

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me when this takes place, I have no idea. Pre-Bride, that's all I know.

I don't go to bars in order to relax or have fun, as a general rule. When I go to a bar, it's usually to brood, to reflect on recent cases (and the mistakes made therein), or to find information. Occasionally I'll mingle in my own way, making myself available to people who might be looking for my help, trying to drum up a bit of business. I've never believed in conventional advertising, probably because I've never been much good at it and the firms that operate in the Nightside eat their clients for breakfast. Literally, with a nice side of fried tomatoes. I only ever go to one bar, and that's Strangefellows. It has everything I need; brandy and absolutely no one trying to chat me up about the weather.

My secretary Cathy calls me boring. I like to think I'm just being professional, but those two things are often one in the same, even here in the Nightside.

The point of it all being that 'clubbing' was just something I did to people who really annoyed me and the only time I ever 'barhopped' was because I'd had to leave the previous one in a hurry, with either me or the bar probably being on fire. Which meant that me standing on the street outside of my house, waiting for Dead Boy to show up so he could drag me to the latest neon booze extravaganza the Nightside had to offer, was so drastically out of character it would have made just about anyone in the Nightside look at me twice (which was a notable feat in a town where everyone spent most of their time decidedly _not_ looking at anything in particular for fear of offending the wrong people). When I told Suzie where I was going— out of courtesy more than any real concern that she would worry about me, because we were both very independent people— she actually laughed.

Dead Boy and his sentient futuristic car pulled up in front of my house, the car giving the front yard's minefield a wide berth, possibly for fear of scratching the wax job. Dead Boy was dressed as he usually was— some days I wondered if he had more than the one outfit, with its over-large hat and his purple great coat, though he had a fresh flower in the buttonhole which was strangely charming— and he'd caked himself in mascara and purple lip gloss that was so fresh it hadn't even dried yet. He had probably done his makeup on the way over, since the car refused to let anyone drive it, even its chosen driver.

"Hey sweetheart, looking for a date?" he yelled obnoxiously as he leaned out the driver's side window, grinning at me as he leaned his head against his fist. A passing neighbor paused to see if someone was trying to solicit Suzie— free entertainment is always popular in the Nightside, especially when it involves gratuitous violence— but walked on when they saw that it was just me. I didn't really want to know what that said about my reputation.

Dead Boy is the Nightside's eternal teenager, spirit of drugs and alcohol and all the weirdest kinds of sex and everything else you don't want your parents to know you're doing. Mugged and murdered at the age of seventeen, he made a deal with Something to seek his revenge. Long story short, he can't die anymore, and in between bouts of debauchery he does good deeds to try and rack up enough karma to convince heaven to nix his contract entirely. He's technically possessing his own corpse, something that's all too easy to tell when you take one good look at his bare chest and see that it's held together with stitches, staples, and duct tape, but he's incredibly lively for a dead man. Or boy, as it were.

Dead Boy has been the exception to a lot of my personal rules over the years, rules that include 'don't get into a fast metal box with someone when you don't know their weak spot' and 'don't make friends with party animals because they might expect you to go out to parties _with_ them'. We were friends and unlike with most of the people I know I don't have to tack on a 'sometimes' to that statement.

We dated from time to time. Which was how he'd gotten me to agree to the whole thing in the first place.

I wondered whether it was worth it to be prickly just to show how much I didn't want to go on this outing, but there were only two possible outcomes: either Dead Boy would ignore me completely and I'd end up feeling like an idiot, or he would pout and make this even more painful than it already had to be. Instead I just courteously nodded and waited for Dead Boy to pop the passenger door for me. The fact that he could convince me to go out to a bar with him in the first place proved that he had me on a leash, but I'd be damned (even moreso than usual, I mean) if I wasn't going to be spoilt in the process.

"Why the long face? Did Suzie kill your favorite house plant or something?" he asked as he held the door open for me. I climbed in, touching the car's exterior as little as possible (it was still angry with me for an earlier excursion that best went unspoken, and ever since I had taken it to Griffin Hall the one time it had gotten a lot more inventive with the use of its defenses).

"Where are we going?" I asked, ignoring his question. Selectively ignoring Dead Boy was an important skill I had picked up over the years. I didn't want to sound _too_ interested— that would have just encouraged him, after all— but it always pays to know what kind of lion's den you're walking into, especially since I had almost put most of the major clubs and bars in the Nightside out of business at one point or another.

"A new place," he said plainly, probably thinking the same thing. He had helped me nearly put a lot of those clubs out of business, voluntarily or not. People tended to forgive Dead Boy more easily for that sort of thing, though. I guess being dead goes a long way. He grinned to himself as he reclined the seat as far as it would go, until his head was nearly level with his bent knees. The car didn't need him to drive it; it could handle that quite well on its own, and probably wouldn't let him even if he tried. Dead Boy knew better.

Once we were off the street my house was on, the traffic increased to its usual Darwinian struggle. In the Nightside the traffic never slows down, certainly never stops, and not everything that looks like a car is actually a car— and most of them are hungry. Anyone that chooses to drive in the Nightside has to have some heavy-duty protections and Dead Boy is no exception. His car is sentient and has some serious attitude to go along with its futuristic defense systems. Sometimes it starts giggling to itself.

"So what _is_ this 'new place'?" I asked, figuring enough time had passed between questions that I wouldn't sound pushy. Dead Boy hummed and reached for the glove box on my side of the car. I retrieved his box of chocolate biscuits that he always kept close at hand, ignoring the way the car tried to slam the compartment door on my fingers. It was protective of Dead Boy; I didn't take it personally.

"It's called _Pangaea_ ," he replied through a mouthful of chocolate and stale biscuit, spewing crumbs down his front. Where Dead Boy was concerned, being dead meant things like manners, decorum, and tact could be thrown out the window. Not all of the dead felt that way— Larry Oblivion came to mind, who was polite and professional when it suited him and could be a real ass when it didn't (I could see the hypocrisy just fine, thank you very much)— but Dead Boy's position wasn't exactly unique. "You'll see what it's about when we get there. But it's on the level. I mean, as much as any place is here."

Meaning there would hopefully be no need for me to bring the place down around our ears. Considering I'd seen how Dead Boy parties before, it could very well happen anyway, but there wouldn't be a need for me to get on my high horse to do it.

"The new flower's a nice touch," I said for the sake of making conversation. I reached over to touch it, half expecting it to hiss or try to bite me. Sometimes, though, a flower is just a flower— even in the Nightside.

"Thanks," Dead Boy grinned. "I felt like dressing up. You should consider yourself special. I don't dress up for just—"

The car swerved to the side of the road and slammed to a stop almost perfectly in sync with Dead Boy cutting off because he happened to notice something. The sudden stop had almost slammed my head into the dashboard, but I doubted the car felt particularly bad about that.

"Eddie!"

It took me a minute to process who he was talking to, probably because I wasn't used to people being quite so happy to see him. Usually the reaction to Razor Eddie was pure abject terror or, for the more sure hearted of us, vague discomfort and unease.

Dead Boy was leaning out of his window and I craned my head to try and see around him. Sure enough, standing on the sidewalk was Razor Eddie, the Punk God of the Straight Razor. He was a sight to behold, for those of us who could stand the sight of him without running for the hills. Even the Nightside's usual heavy foot traffic was lighter with him around, always staying well away from him. Part of that was the smell; Eddie smelled bad enough that flies had a tendency to fall dead out of the air just from getting too close.

Razor Eddie was a force for Good in the Nightside, though the Good didn't get a say in the matter. He had done some horrible things in his time, truly awful things that had led him to the Street of the Gods. Whatever had happened there— I didn't know, and most days I didn't _want_ to know— had left him with a burning desire to do penance for those things. He spent most of his days sleeping in doorways, living on handouts, and killing the really bad people who needed killing— all in the name of protecting the weak and helpless in the Nightside. He can't be killed (not easily, at least— I'd figured out the secret in a less than pleasant jaunt through time and I wasn't about to tell anyone) and often kills before the people he's after have even spotted him.

We're friends, or so I like to think.

A gaunt, hollow presence in a long gray coat that surely didn't start out that color, Eddie sauntered over to the car and bent forward to be eye to eye with Dead Boy. People moved out of his way without prompting and without a second glance back, some of them running full-tilt. And Eddie wasn't even out for blood.

Just goes to show what a good (or rather, bad) reputation can do for you.

"Dead Boy," he acknowledged curtly, nodding to my companion. He then peered around him and looked at me, giving me a friendly smile. I tried not to let the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Eddie's smiles are just the sort of thing that make you want to head for the hills if you have an ounce of good sense. "And John. Good to see you both."

I nodded back and Dead Boy surprised me by climbing out of the car. I followed suit, mostly because I wanted to see what he was up to, partially because I didn't want to be left in the car alone. Really, you would think it would forgive me after a while— losing part of a limb wasn't going to hurt Dead Boy in the long run, and I'd helped him sew it back on, even offered to foot the bill for an expensive professional if he'd have preferred it.

"Working hard or hardly working?" I asked in jest. Eddie actually chuckled. "Good to see you, Eddie. Heard you've been keeping yourself busy."

"I've heard the same about you. Always more people to help."

"And more bad guys to hurt."

Conversation came easily between the two of us, possibly because we were both focused on ignoring the way Dead Boy was bouncing on his heels and grinning, waiting to be acknowledged.

When Eddie turned to him, he rocked forward and moved closer. I watched with idle fascination, and was more than a little weirded out. I supposed it made sense that Dead Boy didn't mind getting closer to Eddie than most people; the dead didn't need to smell, and he was notorious for lacking fear to the point where I almost felt compelled to wander around after him and pick up any body parts he happened to lose without realizing it.

"Where've you been hiding yourself?" he asked, leaning in towards Eddie, staring at him expectantly. I had just started wondering why Eddie was so comfortable with him— Razor Eddie, who was notoriously not a people person and tended to physically drift away from others even when he made himself into an overwhelming presence— when Eddie responded to his expectant expression by leaning in and kissing his cheek.

"As John said, I've been keeping myself busy. There's always something to be done here in the Nightside, when you go looking for it."

"Workaholic. All work and no play and all that."

"Oh, I enjoy my work well enough."

I didn't have anything to add to the conversation. Frankly I was too dumbfounded to have anything useful to say, even if it seemed like a conversation I was being invited into, which frankly it didn't. It probably shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did; Dead Boy was drawn again and again to things that were bad for him, and Eddie certainly fit that description. Maybe it was just the fact that I had always thought of myself as the nucleus of my social group. The people I made friends with tended to stick mostly to themselves. The only time I ever tended to see more than one of them in a room at any given time was when there was trouble about and I called on them for help.

Or maybe I just wasn't used to my date kissing other men in front of me.

"I didn't know you two.." I trailed off, not sure where I was going with that. I didn't know they knew each other? That would have been a bald-faced lie. I didn't know they were dating? I didn't like to make assumptions like that for the same reason I didn't ask hefty-looking women when the baby was due; I had more good sense than that.

Dead Boy grinned and rocked back on his heels again. "Mmhm," he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. "Of course you didn't."

I knew an insult when I heard one, and put on an appropriate scowl. "Am I always the last to know this sort of thing?"

"Generally speaking, yes."

Eddie looked subtly amused by our exchange, standing back with his hands folded behind him. I didn't feel like having this conversation on the street, even though Eddie's presence was doing a good job at discouraging any eavesdroppers. Sooner or later someone would brave the danger of Razor Eddie for the sake of gossip. The only thing that travels faster than light is gossip in the Nightside.

"We were on our way to a place called Pangaea," I said casually, as if this sort of thing happened to me every day. "If you'd like to join us."

Eddie raised an eyebrow at that, and even Dead Boy seemed surprised. He grinned and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He was giddy about catching me off guard, and obviously excited to see what I was planning to do next. I ignored him as per usual and focused on Eddie, waiting for a response.

The Punk God of the Straight Razor gave a casual shrug. "Why not?" A small terrifying smile crept onto his face, only there for those who were looking for it. "I've been meaning to look the place over. I like to pay a greeting visit to any place that sets up shop that close to the Alley. It keeps them honest."

"And puts the fear of God into them," I said with a nod. I hadn't exactly been sure about whether or not Eddie would accept my offer, but then again I was never sure of much when it came to Razor Eddie. Some days we were friends, and some days he tried to kill me, and some days both were true. That's the Nightside for you.

I turned back to Dead Boy's car, and it blared a horn at me I didn't know it had. It was so loud I had to resist the urge to clap my hands over my ears to block it out. I didn't think it would help even if I did.

"Hey," Dead Boy said, sounding vaguely annoyed and a little insulted. The sound hadn't bothered him, but that didn't surprise me. "Eddie's a friend. Be nice."

The car swiveled out of the spot at an angle I didn't think was possible and took off into the roar of traffic before Dead Boy could say anything else. I looked to him for some kind of explanation. He seemed angry, but I didn't think it would last. Emotions had a hard time sticking with Dead Boy.

"Whenever I give Eddie a ride, she needs to get psychically cleansed," he explained without being prompted. "My baby can handle any sort of dirt, grime, or other nastiness you can throw at her, but auras are a whole different ball game."

"I get that a lot," Eddie added casually in his thin, ghostly voice. Thankfully he didn't seem insulted. I didn't want to think about what might happen if Eddie decided to pick a fight with Dead Boy's car; I just knew it would be unpleasant.

"I take it we're walking, then?" I asked, not very excited about the prospect. It wasn't like I'd even wanted to come in the first place. I couldn't even remember how Dead Boy had convinced me other than the fact that it had involved my neck and his very talented mouth.. "You know, when the work day is done, I'm supposed to _stop_ pounding the pavement."

"Don't be such a wimp, John," Dead Boy said, and suddenly his perennial grin was back. Like I said, it's hard to keep a dead man down. After a while Dead Boy just got bored of feeling one thing and decided to feel another. "It's good exercise, or so I'm told. I wouldn't know. But keep getting flabby and people are going to stop taking you seriously."

"I'm not flabby!" I snapped immediately, flushing in spite of myself. It took a lot of self-control not to look down at my stomach to see if I really had put on any weight since the last time Dead Boy had seen me. I wasn't known for my healthy lifestyle, after all. I lived on takeout and spent most of my time outside of work brooding in a distinctly non-athletic way.

"Of course not, John," Dead Boy replied innocently. "There's just more of you to love."

He sniggered, I frowned as hard as I could, and Eddie stood by unobtrusively without even trying to pretend he wasn't listening.

"You don't have to be in good shape to be a good private investigator," I said, trying to sound annoyed and mostly just sounding like I was pouting. Dead Boy had already stopped paying attention and was contemplating which way to go. When he took off into the crowd of pedestrians— most of them moving to get out of his way— Eddie and I followed after as best we could. I was having trouble keeping up, which wasn't doing a lot to disprove what Dead Boy had said. Eddie strode along with ease, of course.

We moved from the typical sin-filled avenues of the Nightside to the gaudy temptations of Uptown. Where people in the Nightside go when they want their sin with a thin veneer of respectability at massively inflated prices. Most places in Uptown would lock and bar their doors at the sight of me, on general principle, but I was getting the distinct impression that this place was too new to know any better. I'd certainly never heard of it before, not even from Cathy, who was so quick to hop onto new trends that I had started to think she kept an oracle stashed somewhere in my office. I didn't know whether to take that as a good sign or a bad one.

Keeping up with Dead Boy was hard, but keeping my eye on him wasn't. All I had to do was watch for his purple greatcoat flapping behind him and the people in a hurry to get out of his way. He stopped abruptly, but thankfully because I was watching carefully I didn't run into him. That would have just been embarrassing.

The edifice of the club was more refined than I'd been expecting. I'd been bracing myself for something gaudy, taking Divas! as an indication of his usual tastes. It was a traditional red sandstone building with the name of the club above the door in flouncy, curly script. The music that drifted out was energetic but tasteful. It all seemed very.. tame. Far too tame to survive long in the Nightside, and definitely a lot less than I'd been expecting from the infamous Dead Boy.

He nodded to the doorman with familiarity as he stepped inside. I did the same, trying not to look like I was a little winded. Eddie just strode past without so much as looking at fellow. He didn't try to stop us and neither did any of the people who were waiting in line to be admitted. They had better sense.

Inside, a perky young thing with breasts you could bounce a penny off of somehow stuffed into a button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone darted straight over to us as soon as we stepped into the classy foyer. She had a bright smile for Dead Boy and studiedly ignored Eddie and me. She signed something animatedly to Dead Boy, who signed back. That surprised me. I had no idea Dead Boy knew sign language. Then again, he _did_ have an awful lot of time to kill, pun not intended. She looked over to us and back to Dead Boy, signing too fast for my eye to follow even though I probably wouldn't have known what she was saying. My sign language knowledge was woefully inadequate.

She disappeared behind a podium and reappeared with menus and a professional smile for each of us. She motioned for us to follow her through the wide archway separating the foyer from the rest of the club.

Inside it was a lot more exciting than it looked on the outside. The music was loud and energetic, just loud enough to be heard over the din of conversation. The place was packed, but not uncomfortably so. It all seemed very carefully run, and I had a feeling whoever was in charge went to great lengths to keep it that way.

At a low table on one side of the room, a geisha in full makeup and dress was performing a complicated tea ceremony. In a sheltered booth table on the opposite side, a busty blonde woman in cut-off jean shorts and a tied-off plaid shirt, complete with cowboy boots and hat, was leaning over the table of two very content looking businessmen. On the dance floor, a young Helen was doing one of the sensuous dance routines that had made her one of the Bollywood greats, accompanied by an entire slew of backup dancers.

The hostess led us to a booth in the back corner of the room, probably to keep us away from the rest of her customers. I wasn't insulted; I would have asked for it anyway. I didn't like having to watch my back when I was off the clock. She doled out menus, all but throwing Eddie's at him while professionally looking like she wasn't, and gave Dead Boy a lingering smile and a signed _Nice to see you_ (which I _did_ understand, thank you very much).

Once she was gone, I turned to Dead Boy, waiting for an explanation. Eddie seemed focused on the menu, occasionally nodding approvingly to himself.

"I have a lot of hidden depths," was all he said before scrutinizing his own menu. I took the cue and chose to focus on mine.

The waitress that sprang over to us with spritely efficiency was dressed in an ancient Greek chiton and had the strong profile to match, complete with pronounced nose and jawline. Her curly black hair was piled on top of her head as was the Grecian fashion. She looked far more accurate than your typical movie depiction, which I only knew because of Suzie's secret love of the history channel (she could say she only subscribed to it because it came packaged with the Guns & Ammo channel, but I knew better). I was starting to think the accuracy was the point.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said in a deep voice that resonated with motherly warmth. She certainly looked older than the cowgirl or the geisha. I had to wonder if she had been assigned to us or if she had volunteered. If she was nervous about being around us, she was doing a good job at hiding it. "May I fetch you anything, or do you need more time to decide? Mistress DuPont would also like me to inform you that your drinks are on the house tonight."

I looked to Dead Boy for an explanation but he was still buried in his menu. Eddie ordered a Perrier, which I hadn't seen on the menu but had no doubt would be brought to us promptly. On general principle I ordered the most expensive brandy listed, something called 'Atlantean Atlas' brandy, and politely asked her to recommend some appetizers. She rattled off an impressive, practiced list, ranging from hummus to miso shrimp to varying things beer-battered and deep fried. I told her to surprise me.

Dead Boy seemed to finally be finished perusing his menu and ordered hot sake with a moonshine chaser, challenging the waitress to bring him the spiciest dish they had. She never once faltered in her professional smile and didn't write a single thing down, but I had no doubt every order she delivered was perfect. I could practically See the discipline rolling off of all of the waitresses and other staff in waves.

"Feel free to partake in any of tonight's entertainment, gentlemen," she said, stepping back from the table. "We here at Pangaea pride ourselves on being able to offer everything under the sun, and then some."

She bowed gracefully to us and strode off into the club, dodging around people without even looking at them. With the last of the distractions removed, I fixed Dead Boy with a hard stare and waited patiently for an explanation.

"Pangaea is billed as the ultimate cure for homesickness," he explained, leaning back in his seat. It was a good thing we were sitting in a booth, otherwise I would have been tempted to kick out his chair legs just to see what would happen. Dead Boy brought out the mischievous side of me. "Food and entertainment from every culture, current or departed, on Earth. And some that have yet to exist. Eventually they want to be able to cater to everyone in the Nightside, no matter where or when they came from."

"That's a tall order, considering how many people come here through Timeslips," I commented, just to show I was paying attention. Eddie was listening too, though he was content to stay out of the conversation. Razor Eddie wasn't a social creature. I took it as a good sign that he was comfortable in our company. "And the staff? There are definitely some people out there who shouldn't be that young, or still alive at all."

"Channelers," Dead Boy replied. "The owner's a friend of mine. She used to work at Divas!, and took a few trade secrets with her when she left. She hires at-risk folks and teaches them to channel whoever she needs."

I was randomly overcome by the desire to ask who she had dressed up as at Divas!, but I quashed it. Some conversations you just know aren't going to go anywhere you want them to.

I liked the atmosphere of the place. I'd been expecting more dark corners and strobe lights, but while the energetic performances going on around the massive space gave it a definite club feel, it was just as much a bar and a restaurant. A place where people went to feel at home, even if it was just in the form of food and music. It still seemed tame by Dead Boy's standards, but knowing he knew the owner made it less confusing.

Our drinks were brought to us promptly. The brandy was sweet, spicy, and burned like Hell going down. Exactly what I wanted from it. I'd braced myself for a night that would need a lot of drinking, but I was starting to think that wouldn't be the case. Still, I wasn't going to hold my breath. The night still had plenty of time to disappoint me, and Eddie's smell was starting to get to me.

  


The food was good. Perfectly cooked and not a hair in sight. Whoever this Mistress DuPont was, she knew how to run her business with a firm hand. I'd seen a drunk customer try to pull away a waitress' headscarf and the waitress— all five feet of her— had picked him up over her head and tossed him through the front door, with nods of approval and a few claps from both the other servers and the customers.

Eventually Dead Boy had wandered off, but I'd expected that. He got bored easily, and Dead Boy didn't really put up with being bored. When he got tired of whatever he was doing, he went off and did something else, with no real regard for decorum or social conduct. Sometimes it was one of his charms, other times it was annoying as Hell. For the most part the people closest to him (and I like to think of myself as somewhere on that list) learn to deal with it.

For a while I sat and had a chat with Eddie. He and I didn't talk much; usually when we saw each other there were more important things to be doing, people who needed to be killed or at least beaten soundly. We'd been closer, once, but those weren't times I liked to think about too much. He asked politely after Suzie and I asked if he'd killed anyone interesting lately. Small talk. Eventually we ran out of things to talk about and I excused myself and headed for the bar.

An elegant structure in dark wood with a rainbow of alcohol set into the wall, the bar was managed by one very elegant woman with skin so dark it almost shined blue. Like all of the other waitresses, she was all polite smiles and perfect service, but the colorful sleeveless dress she was wearing was perfect to show off the muscles in her arms. The people who worked at Pangaea could evidently all handle themselves.

"Good evening, Mr Taylor," she said in a melodic Nigerian accent. I didn't ask how she knew me. I'd gotten tired of asking that question a long time ago. "Mistress DuPont said your drinks are on the house. My stocks are yours."

I nodded to her and leaned against the bar. "Wormwood brandy?" It was more of a question than a demand. I'd liked the Atlantean brandy well enough, but I liked to stick to the classics. And I probably wasn't going to endear myself to the owner by drinking all of the good stuff on her tab. I generally didn't care about endearing myself to people, but since she was a friend of Dead Boy's I felt I should at least make a casual effort.

The bartender gave me another professional smile and wandered with practiced efficiency through the racks in search of my personal brand of poison. I drummed my fingers on the bar top while I waited, letting my eyes wander. Eddie was still sitting at our booth at the back of the room, scoping out the crowd and sipping occasionally at his water. I caught occasional glimpses of Dead Boy's greatcoat in the crowd on the dance floor who were all trying to emulate Helen and her dancers. He was dancing with the Bollywood legend herself and looked like he was having a great time.

The bartender set my drink down in front of me and wandered off to serve another customer at the same time as Dead Boy seemed to get bored of dancing and wandered over to me. He gifted me a smile that was a lot nicer than the cheeky grins he'd been giving me the rest of the evening.

"I brought you here so you could do something besides brood at a bar like you do at Strangefellows, you know," he said, not unkindly.

"I'm not brooding. I'm just being mysterious and aloof. Have to keep up appearances, you know," I replied as I sipped at my brandy. Dead Boy laughed, not his usual big laughter but a small chuckle that let me know he appreciated my humor.

"You know, if you're bored.." He sidled closer and leaned in as if he was sniffing my neck, his lips just barely brushing against my throat.

You adjusted to a certain level of PDA when you dated Dead Boy with any kind of regularity. He might have been dead, but it certainly didn't kill his sex drive, at least as long as he kept taking his special pills. In spite of the fact that I was more than used to being kissed, fondled, and otherwise touched in public by my mortally-challenged date, I felt suddenly shy. It didn't have anything to do with the crowds of people around us— it had everything to do with Razor Eddie, who I knew was watching even if he didn't look like he was.

Dead Boy must have been able to tell I was tense, because he pulled away. He caught me glancing over at Eddie and took a step back from me, shaking his head and smiling.

"You're not kidding when you say you wouldn't know a clue if you tripped over one, are you?" he asked, and I was too busy being confused to bother being insulted.

He drifted away from the bar again, disappearing into the crowd. From across the room I could feel Razor Eddie's sharp eyes on me, staring without even pretending he wasn't. There was something going on that I didn't understand, evidently. Story of my life, but a lot less fun when there's no chance you're getting paid for it. And when it involves people you like to think you can trust.

I downed the rest of my brandy and ordered another one. I figured I would need liquid courage to deal with whatever was coming my way. I couldn't see Dead Boy, so I decided to head back to our table. Eddie wasn't known for keeping secrets, so if I was going to get information out of either of them, it was him.

He had a fresh bottle of water and was staring patiently at me. He must have been expecting me. I tried not to look nervous about that fact as I slid into the booth directly across from him.

"Have you been enjoying yourself, John?" he asked in his thin, quiet voice. If it were anyone else I would have had to struggle to hear them over the energy in the club, but this was Razor Eddie. He had a presence that did more than good acoustics ever could. I shrugged, sipping at my brandy to give myself time to think of a good answer.

"This isn't exactly my first choice for a fun time," I replied, watching his face carefully. What Dead Boy had said had me on high alert. I didn't think there was anything sinister happening— if that was the case, he wouldn't have said anything, and he could always pull quite the poker face when he wanted to— but I wasn't the sort of person who liked being kept in the dark. That this hadn't been a simple attempt to get me out of the house was becoming increasingly obvious. "I'd rather be at home with a classic movie. But it's been a lot better than I was expecting."

Eddie nodded and his attention drifted away again. I stared at him like I might be able to figure out what was going on that way, but he turned to look at me again and I flinched. I couldn't help it. I could also keep a great poker face most of the time, but Eddie would have seen right through it anyway. We knew each other too well.

"I saw you at the bar," he said plainly, and there was something sharp and focused in the way he was looking at me. I felt very small all of a sudden, and trust me when I say it takes a Hell of a lot to make me feel that way. I'd faced down gods and monsters, heroes and villains, and still nothing made me feel quite like a child the way being stared down by Razor Eddie did. He'd seen me at my worst and knew things about me that no one else did, not even my Suzie.

"I think he was trying to get me to leave with him," I said honestly, because I couldn't _not_ be honest when Eddie was looking at me that way. I couldn't remember _my_ parents ever looking at me like that, but I had a feeling this was how children felt when looking into their parents' hard stares. "It wouldn't have been very polite to leave you here, though."

"Who said anything about leaving me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. And that was when it fell into place.

I'm not proud to admit it, but I nearly choked on my own tongue. Eddie politely pretended not to notice, even though he was still staring at me intensely. If he'd been looking to catch me off guard he'd done a Hell of a good job.

We'd been close once, Eddie and I. Closer than I think anyone realized, and for good reason. I didn't like to talk about that part of my life. Eddie had been with me through some hard times and had dragged me out of some dark places— literally, in a few cases. That had all changed after I fled the Nightside with Suzie's bullet in my back. It wasn't that we'd had any kind of falling out, but when I'd come back with Joanna Barrett in tow, things just hadn't been the same between us. Eddie had busied himself with his work and I'd spent five years playing at being normal. Razor Eddie was still Razor Eddie, but neither of us had known if I was still the same John Taylor. It was only natural that we'd drifted apart, and I didn't take the time to feel sorry for it.

Friends, enemies, lovers. Labels like that change quickly in the Nightside, and you learn quickly that it's not smart to get sentimental about it.

I'd never use the word 'sentimental' to describe Eddie, but the way he was looking at me made it pretty clear that he hadn't forgotten what we'd been to each other once. My mouth felt dry and blocked up, like my tongue was swollen. I dove headfirst into my brandy to make up for it and to cover for the fact that I had no idea what to say. It was becoming more and more obvious that bumping into Eddie hadn't been a coincidence. I was almost kicking myself for not realizing it earlier. How could Dead Boy have spotted him through the traffic with the car moving so fast? Why had Eddie been so ready to come along with us?

I was saved from thinking about my own stupidity by Dead Boy swaggering over. He had a flute of champagne and more than one lipstick mark somewhere on his person. He slid into the booth next to Eddie and started to say something before catching sight of the look on both of our faces. At that point he broke out in a wide grin.

"So," he asked, pulling a wad of notes out of his greatcoat and slapping them down on the table. "Ready to get out of here?"

  


I didn't have a lot to say as Dead Boy all but dragged me out of the club by the sleeve of my coat. I wasn't reeling, exactly; I was too much a hardened professional for that. Mostly I was trying to figure out how the Hell I had gotten into the situation in the first place. To be fair to both Dead Boy and Eddie, it was shaping up to be the most pleasant trap I had ever fallen into. That had plenty of time to change, but still.

Nobody glanced at us any more than usual as we walked three-file down the street. I felt vulnerable, radiating nervous energy like a virgin schoolgirl on her first date. Luckily neither of them demanded much from me. All I had to do was follow Dead Boy, who seemed to have a second destination clearly in mind. Pangaea had just been a quiet place for them to spring the trap on me.

Soon the bright neon of Uptown faded into something quieter. The street was mostly residential, dotted here and there with corner stores and restaurants kept in business only by the people who didn't want to walk more than half a block from their apartments. Dead Boy led the way to a soulless gray tenement, Eddie bringing up the rear and me sandwiched between the two of them. He dug through his pockets for his key-ring, a monstrosity of metal that must have weighed several pounds. I didn't even know what the keys were for; he never told me.

I was led to a door at the top of some wooden steps that had seen better days. Dead Boy flipped through the keys, looking for the right one. It felt like he was taking an eternity. My heart rate was up, which was embarrassing, but I couldn't help it. I could feel Eddie behind me, the weight of his presence like a sword hanging overhead. His breath was warm against the back of my neck. I hardly even noticed the smell anymore, which was a real accomplishment.

Suddenly I was being tugged through the door by my wrist. I'd barely stumbled inside before Dead Boy pulled me in by my coat lapels and kissed me with an intensity that dead men aren't supposed to have. Kissing Dead Boy was.. an experience. He made every kiss into a fight and never seemed to remember that living people needed to breathe every now and again. By the time he let me go my head was spinning too much to even look at my surroundings, not that I expected anything impressive. This was a bolt hole, somewhere for Dead Boy to wile away the time between good deeds and debauchery.

Eddie was behind me again, his hands lightly encircling my wrists, keeping my arms down at my sides with gentle prompting rather than any actual force. He kissed the back of my neck and my legs nearly buckled.

"Why this? Why— now?" I definitely did not shudder as Eddie started to ease my coat off of my shoulders. Not at all. I also definitely wasn't having trouble breathing, or thinking straight.

"Because we figured out that we wanted each other, and both wanted you," Eddie replied, so close to my ear that I could almost _feel_ the words more than hear them. His quiet, thin voice didn't seem nearly so quiet anymore. "We were just waiting for _you_ to figure it out."

"You've always been kind of clueless for a PI, John," Dead Boy chuckled. Eddie tossed my coat to him and he made it disappear somewhere. The Nightside's eternal teenager was standing in front of me, a few steps back, staring at me like a present he was a little too eager to unwrap. There was nothing keeping me held in place; even Eddie's hands were only barely touching me. All the same, I didn't feel like I could move. I was rooted in place by the weight of my own muddled thoughts. There was a pounding, pulsing feeling of _want_ that was making my entire body tingle. For every bit duller my thoughts became, my senses sharpened. I could see better in the gloom, for starters. Well enough to clearly see Dead Boy take a few steps back and beckon me forward with a twitch of his lips into a perfect cocky grin, his hand patting the side of his thigh like an owner beckoning to their dog.

I didn't even have to swallow my pride. We were far past that point already.


	2. the hard place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever felt like a grounded bird being stared down by a cat? Have you ever wanted to? It's a weird feeling, but worth it, in my opinion. [OR: Dead Boy and Razor Eddie have finally gotten tired of waiting for John to realize the obvious.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice a dramatic change in quality (good or bad), it's because I wrote everything up to this point and several pages afterwards approximately 5 years ago. I only very recently came back and finished this monstrosity. Please enjoy.

Dead Boy led me to the bedroom. I had no illusions about the fact that I was the only one being led. Eddie was just there to herd me along. I was well beyond caring. So much so that I didn't even crack a joke about Dead Boy's ostentatiously large bed ('you don't even _sleep_ '). Also because I was glad to see it. Keeping two bodies in a bed was hard enough at times. I couldn't imagine three would be any easier.

He kissed me again, dragging me forward by two fistfuls of shirt. Patience and subtlety were things no one would ever associate with Dead Boy, possibly out of fear he would take offense. This time I kissed back, not quite as stunned as I had been the first time. My hands fumbled like I was on a nervous first date, but Dead Boy solved my problem of where to put them by slapping them out of the air. As the kiss reached the point of dizzying I heard the distinct _ri-i-ip_ of fabric.

I probably would have been more annoyed about my ruined shirt if Eddie hadn't come up behind me again, bringing my wrists together behind my back. With a hand on my shoulder he guided me forward until we were at the edge of the bed. He pushed down gently on that same shoulder, telling me to sit down, and I didn't utter a single word. Not one syllable. I did exactly what I was told; I didn't even move my hands from behind my back, crossed over at the wrist.

Because it was Eddie.

Dead Boy had clambered onto the bed ahead of me and was laying with his back pressed against the wall, curled into an interesting half-arched position that reminded me of a cat. I couldn't see him all that well because I had to crane my head, but I still didn't know who I was supposed to be looking at. He'd kicked off his boots at some point but he was otherwise still dressed. Eddie apparently didn't approve of that, because the next thing he said was "Aren't you a little overdressed for the occasion?"

"And you aren't?" Dead Boy replied without missing a beat. Eddie reached around me, craning across the frankly massive bed to tug at one of Dead Boy's sleeves.

"Off," he said, not really a command but not exactly a request either.

"Yessir," Dead Boy drawled, giggling. I heard the rustling of his coat but didn't actually see him undressing because Eddie lightly touched his fingers to my jaw and guided me to turn my head forward.

He was half straddling me now, one knee up on the bed next to me, his other foot still on the floor. I could feel Dead Boy squirming out of his clothes on the bed behind me and I could hear the springs creaking, but I didn't have eyes for anything but Eddie.

God, I'd forgotten how intense his eyes could be. It was a lot like the intensity he had when he killed— focused, sharp, able to stop you in place the moment you locked eyes with him. But instead of the icy chill of just _knowing_ you were about to die, there was so much heat in it that it made you melt. I felt.. _exposed_ , and it made me squirm. I was so hard it hurt.

Dead Boy had apparently finished undressing, because he clambered up behind me, pressing his body against my bare back. His skin was cold (which was to be expected) and there was a definite erection pressed against me (also expected, but a nice confirmation nonetheless). I couldn't see his face at this angle but I could definitely see the way Eddie looked at him and nodded as if to confirm something. It wasn't hard to figure out what that something was when I felt the ruined remains of my shirt wrap around my wrists to be quickly tied into expert knots. I didn't complain; I even lifted my hands so he could tie the knots better.

"Learn that in Scouts?" I teased. It would have come across better if I had any breath left to talk with. Dead Boy laughed anyway and nuzzled against my throat.

"What's your safeword?" he asked as he tugged against the material, testing the knots. I twisted my wrists just to make sure it wasn't going to cut off any circulation, but this wasn't Dead Boy's first time doing this, or likely even his hundredth. He knew what he was doing.

"Mirror," I murmured, not quite sure where I pulled it from. Possibly the last time Dead Boy and I had needed a safeword.

Eddie had shed his coat, casting it into the same nebulous place that both mine and Dead Boy's had disappeared into. I'd forgotten how _small_ Eddie actually was. When he lifted his shirt over his head I could see the ridges of each individual rib. Eddie had been homeless ever since his first encounter on the Street of the Gods as part of his self-imposed penance, and it showed in more than just the smell or the grubbiness of his clothes. For all the strength of his presence, when he was out of his greatcoat he looked small and even vulnerable. Less like a god and more like a man. It shouldn't have been humbling, but somehow it was.

Dead Boy was resting his head on my shoulder, making appreciative noises as Eddie undressed himself. The Punk God of the Straight Razor looked at him with a raised brow, undid the button of his pants, and wandered off like he'd been distracted by something. That Dead Boy was less appreciative about. He grumbled and decided to amuse himself instead by sucking at a sensitive spot on my neck. I squirmed a little and he responded by biting me.

I didn't cry out, but I did hiss through my teeth. It wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but it was definitely hard enough to leave a nasty— and incriminating— bruise. Once he was satisfied that he'd left his mark he kissed it softly a few times. He rubbed his hands over my chest. His skin was starting to warm up from extended contact with mine.

Eddie wandered back into our line of sight and knelt in front of me, carefully removing my shoes and socks. I was starting to get impatient— I was horny as Hell and my breath was starting to come short and fast, but I wasn't about to say anything.

With a hand pressing against my shoulder, Eddie guided me to lay back on the bed. More or less right into Dead Boy's lap.

“Hey,” he murmured, grinning at me. I wanted to say something witty, or at least something along the lines of 'hey yourself', but my mouth flapped uselessly. My throat felt swollen and there was too much saliva in my mouth. I swallowed and turned my head, ignoring the way my neck was protesting about the awkward angle.

I parted my lips and leaned forward, mouthing at Dead Boy's cock. I was desperate for any kind of contact. He let out an appreciative, breathy noise and ran a hand through my hair, tugging pleasantly as he shifted his hips closer so I didn't have to crane my neck nearly as far. Eddie had the button of my pants undone and was sliding the zipper down so slowly I could have kicked him (though I wisely chose not to).

“Lift your legs,” he murmured. I arched off the bed as Eddie slid my pants and underwear from my hips in one smooth motion, undressing me with efficiency. A few seconds later I was completely naked. Eddie was the only one still wearing any clothes, having lost his pants but still wearing his underwear. I was still sucking at Dead Boy as best as I could with the awkward angle, enjoying the little noises he was making and the way he was bucking his hips just slightly, but my eyes were on Eddie while I waited to see what he would do next.

He climbed onto the bed and moved to straddle my waist. I turned my head to focus on him and Dead Boy made an irritated noise in the back of his throat that Eddie quickly silenced by leaning in to kiss him. Watching him bite Dead Boy's lower lip as he pulled away sent a surge of heat through me that made it hard not to buck my hips or squirm.

Those urges vanished quickly when Eddie turned his attention back to me. He leaned forward slightly and put his hands on either side of my face, caressing gently. He reached up and pressed the pads of his thumbs to my eyelids. Adrenaline surged in me in that moment, because he could have so easily gouged my eyes out and I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it, bound and naked in Dead Boy's bed. I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I whimpered.

“Shh.” Eddie hushed me soothingly and guided my eyelids down the way you might do with a cadaver. I let him close my eyes and didn't dare open them again. I heard a rustle of fabric and suddenly something was being wrapped around my face as a makeshift blindfold. I could only guess that it was the rest of my destroyed shirt. I lifted my head so Eddie could tie the knot more easily.

I was blind, bound, and at the mercy of two of the more dangerous men in the Nightside, and I was all but kicking myself for not having done this sooner.

Without my eyes, my hearing became much sharper. My own breathing was roaring in my ears and I could feel my own heartbeat in my tied wrists. Dead Boy was actually humming as he cradled my head against his thigh, his fingers threaded in my hair, massaging my scalp. I felt so flushed and feverish that his skin against my cheek felt like ice. The most distracting of all sensations was the weight of Eddie on me, still leisurely straddling my torso. His hands weren't nearly as cold as Dead Boy's, but the feeling of his cool palms caressing my chest and throat was still enough to make me shiver. I felt like a bird being played with by two malicious cats and I was _loving_ it.

“Move him further up the bed,” Eddie murmured to Dead Boy, talking like I wasn't even there as his weight disappeared from my torso. I felt the mattress shifting underneath me and suddenly strong, dead limbs were lifting me under my arms (as best as he could, considering they were tied together at the wrist) and manhandling me, twisting me around and hauling me further onto the bed. I tried to help as best I could without the use of my arms, pushing with my legs, having a hard time finding purchase on the soft thick bedding. Luckily Dead Boy didn't really need the help. I could have gone completely limp and he would have been able to pull me without any real effort at all.

Something soft was slid under the small of my back, then another under my head. Dead Boy was gently raking his nails along my collarbone, just hard enough to feel a slight sting. I couldn't help but groan, bucking my hips involuntarily. I hadn't been touched yet and I was feeling frustrated as Hell. Every single thing they did managed to arouse me more, somehow, but they just. Wouldn't. Touch me. I was going to come just from the scratches, the caressing, the being tugged around like a sack of flour. I was already leaking precome.

Eddie let out a pleased noise, lower than Dead Boy's appreciative humming, more of a growl than anything. He was somewhere to my left now, but the feeling of his hand on the inside of my left thigh still startled me. He guided my legs open and I willingly spread them as far as I could, keeping my knees bent. I could feel and hear the bed shifting and creaking as he moved, situating himself between them.

“You look good like this, John,” Dead Boy chuckled, one hand cradling my jaw. His voice was as cocky and cheeky as ever, but there was a definite edge to it, almost a snarl. He wasn't used to playing the slow build game the way Eddie was. For a man who had all the time in the world, Dead Boy had a tendency to get very impatient very quickly. I couldn't help but smirk. Eddie made me feel complacent, but Dead Boy brought out my resistant side. I twisted my head to bite at his leg, liking the breathy little noise he made when I did it. “Can't take you anywhere, can I? You want something to keep your mouth busy?”

“ _Please_ ,” I murmured, not even able to feel embarrassed about it. Dead Boy laughed and slid my head off of his knee. Something soft and thicker than what was under my back was slid under my head, raising it up and giving me better leverage.

I heard the snap of a bottle cap from between my legs and turned my head in that direction, even though I couldn't see anything regardless. Dead Boy growled good-naturedly and grabbed a fistful of my hair to get my attention. I liked the feeling and twisted my head into it. I licked my lips and twisted my shoulders, feeling giddy and horny and much younger than my years. Dead Boy had that effect on me.

Dead Boy pressed the head of his cock to my lips at the same moment as Eddie slid a cold, lube-slicked finger into me. Somehow I hadn't been expecting it. My head was too heavy, too muddled to let me think straight. So the sudden feeling made me arch my back, making breathy noises as I curled my lips to cover my teeth. Dead Boy laughed as he bunched his fingers in my hair, guiding me gently. Eddie was being thorough and methodical in working me open, a second finger quickly being added alongside the first. Dead Boy was using the hand wrapped in my hair to guide me slowly along his cock, gentle to allow me to adjust, and I sucked and ran my tongue over it enthusiastically. I felt too excited to be skillful or precise. I might as well have been a virgin on prom night, eager and oversensitive and totally unskilled. Regardless, Dead Boy seemed pleased, massaging my scalp as I started moving on my own. I felt a light strain in my neck muscles, but the soft pillows (or blankets, or whatever had been put under me) made it easier on me.

Every so often Eddie would brush something inside of me with his crooked fingers that made my nerve endings sing and I wouldn't be able to help but arch my back and groan around Dead Boy, who would give my hair a pleasant tug or breathe out a pleased noise. The tips of my fingers had gone pleasantly numb, tied together and pressed under the weight of my own body. I kept flexing my hands just to get that vivid prickling feeling, all the better for the fact that every nerve in my body was on fire.

“Relax,” Eddie chuckled, fingers dancing teasingly across my abdomen. Terrifying and violent and vindictive he might have been, but he could also be a real cheeky arse when he wanted to be. More subtly than most, of course, especially the other person that was in the process of driving me crazy. When he slipped in a third finger I made a completely undignified noise and nearly let my teeth slip. I caught it quickly, but not quickly enough. Dead Boy made a disgruntled noise and pulled out of my mouth with a wet 'pop'. I couldn't really be bothered to be ashamed of the needy whine I let out. Even worse, he withdrew his hands from me entirely. I could hear him shift back on the bed and away from me.

“Not the best at multitasking, are you, John?” he asked, and I heard the laugh in his voice. I was grateful in that moment that my hands were tied up, because otherwise I might have decked him one, and that wouldn't have ended well.

Without Dead Boy in my mouth to occupy me, the only thing for me to focus on was the feeling of Eddie's fingers inside of me. He was working me open with mechanical precision, and I was so hypersensitive that I could feel every crook or scissoring or twitching of his fingers.

“You look good like this,” Dead Boy murmured, and I felt his cold fingers pressed against my stomach, tapping out a rhythm just a bit higher than I wanted them to.

It was just too much. The frustration was building as much as the need, the need to have them do horrible, senseless things to me, to have them touch every inch of my body and claim me as _theirs_. They were taking their time with me, because they had waited quite a while for me to figure it out and they could wait a while longer.

Or so they thought. One thing I could always be sure of was that I knew people a lot better than they realized. Dead Boy got a kick out of calling me clueless, but I just spent my time paying attention to the things that really mattered. Like the fact that Dead Boy was impatient, and even though he seemed like he was going along with Eddie's slow-and-steady routine, it wasn't hard to tell that he wanted to pick up the pace. He was twitching like a meth addict in full-blown withdrawal, his fingernails digging little crescents into my stomach, and the little humming noises he was making were brimming with unspent energy.

“Dead Boyyy.” In any other situation I would have been too proud to let out a whine like that, an imitation of exactly the sort of whine Dead Boy himself would make if our positions were reversed. I'd already established that I was well beyond the point of pride, though. The only thing pride was good for at the moment was getting in the way of what I wanted. “Please, _touch me_.”

When Dead Boy laughed, it always had this sort of dry, hollow sound, like the air in his lungs was perpetually stale-- which, in all likelihood, it was. “Not very patient, are you, John?”

“Where's the fun in that?” My voice was casually husky, which I was proud of. It wasn't even intentional; it was just the need pushing its way through. I couldn't see him, but I knew his eyes would be as fever-bright as always, and sharp with hunger, glimmering with his total lack of restraint. Or at least I hoped so. If I was wrong, I was probably just making an idiot out of myself. “You know I've never been good at being patient with you. You're a terrible influence.”

The noise he made was something like a growl, coming from deep in his chest. He clutched at my face with strong fingers and rough nails, dragging me up and leaving little furrows in my skin. He captured me in another breath-stealing kiss, though I didn't have much to spare. By the time he released me my head was spinning and I could barely orient myself. The only thing keeping me grounded was the feeling of Eddie's fingers inside of me and Dead Boy's nails scratching at the half-a-day stubble on my chin. (I hadn't wanted to look like I was putting _too_ much effort into getting ready for our club date, after all. Since I hadn't wanted to go in the first place.)

I felt cold fingers wrap around my cock, and I let out a little breathless gasp. There was a knot in my stomach that started to loosen, and I held tightly onto that feeling, with Dead Boy's fingers expertly stroking me to lead me toward an orgasm I felt was richly deserved. After all, they'd spent the entire night stringing me along, luring me into this intricate trap only to tease me like this.

Eddie made a disgruntled noise. My little ploy had worked on Dead Boy, but it hadn't affected him in the least. Your average person might not think so, but Razor Eddie had a lot of self-control. You had to, in order to live the kind of penitent lifestyle that he did. After all, Eddie could have whatever he wanted; no one would deny the Punk God of the Straight Razor anything. But instead he chose to live a life on the streets. You really had to admire him, in a fashion.

“I should have known better than to think you could have any patience,” he murmured, his voice soft and quiet as ever, but tinged with frustration. Part of me felt proud that I'd derailed his little plan. Another part of me felt ashamed. With Dead Boy, it was all just a part of the game, the little back and forth where we both tried to mess with each other as much as possible; with Eddie it felt more like I was disobeying, like I was doing something wrong.

It took a lot to make me feel like that. I don't think it ever crossed Eddie's mind to feel proud about the fact.

Next he sighed in an airy, dry sort of voice. “Oh well. I suppose we've had our fun.”

There was a sound of skin against skin, and Dead Boy let out a little huff. I could only assume he'd gotten a literal slap on the wrist, because a second later the hand on my dick was retracted. I unconsciously let out a little noise like a whimper, but which most certainly _wasn't_ a whimper because I wasn't _that_ far gone.

And just like that Eddie's fingers were gone too, and I practically wanted to kick him. I felt empty, totally worked over, and completely frustrated. I squirmed as much as I could, which amounted to little more than wiggling my hips considering the fact that my arms were bound and my upper body was at an awkward angle.

“What do you want us to do, John?” Eddie asked, his voice as amused as it was frustrated. “Just say the word..”

“Fuck me.” The words slipped out of my mouth easily, shamelessly, and eagerly. I don't think I could have been more specific if they'd asked. My brain wasn't really working at the moment. Thankfully they didn't ask for any more clarification.

The cold hands massaging my chest were definitely Eddie's. I could feel the roughness of every callous, his long cracked nails leaving lovely welts on my skin. I couldn't see them, of course, but I knew they would stay there even long after the two of them were done with me. Eddie was none too subtle about the claim he felt he had over me, and which I certainly wouldn't dispute— not just because I valued my limbs where they were, but because I didn't necessarily disagree.

Eddie's hands settled on my hips and he pulled me into his lap. His skin wasn't as cold as Dead Boy's, but the difference in temperature between his cool bony legs and his hot cock pressed against my leg made me shiver all the same. He slipped in easily between my legs, stroking them and murmuring comforting nonsense. Even knowing he was being facetious I still felt my muscles go weak.

“Just relax, John.” Dead Boy's voice had sounded amused before; now it just sounded desperate, with a hint of a growl. I'd really done wonders at pushing his buttons, even just judging by his voice. I wasn't really surprised. I had known Dead Boy for a long time; knowing how to get under his skin had come early in our relationship. “Not that you can really do much else. How are your arms feeling, by the way?”

“Cramped. And my fingers are going numb,” I replied honestly, and I couldn't keep the grin off of my face. I knew Dead Boy saw it because he tangled his fingers in my hair and tugged my head back, craning my neck into an uncomfortable position. I could still feel his leg under my head.

“Good,” he murmured, scratching at my scalp. “You're such an asshole, you know that, John?” He laughed, good-naturedly, and twisted my head back in his direction. “Feeling a little better at multitasking?”

“I think you're going to be the judge of that,” I replied, because he already knew the answer. I felt the head of his cock press against my lips again, and I let his cockhead slide into my mouth without any resistance.

Whereas before he was willing to let me move at my own pace, now once I had adjusted and tucked my teeth behind my lips, Dead Boy started thrusting into my mouth. He kept his hand on the back of my head, alternating between rubbing my scalp and tugging at my hair as Eddie continued to take his time between my legs. My teasing had obviously had quite the effect.

“Are you ready, John?” Eddie's quiet, dry voice cut through the air, even while my ears were ringing just from the overwhelming amount of sensations. My mouth was occupied, and I couldn't exactly nod, so I rolled my hips and hoped that amounted to 'yes' in his mind.

Apparently it did, because just a few moments later I felt him pressing against me, pausing as if to taunt me with what was about to come.His hands on my hips were like steel, holding me in place with his inhuman strength, even though he certainly didn't need to.

Eddie never did need to use his body to keep me under control. All he had to do was be Eddie.

I felt him sink into me and suddenly my entire body was a live wire. The fact that they had kept me waiting so long had made me hypersensitive to everything. Eddie slipped into me slowly, his hand rubbing at my chest lightly.

Overcome with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, I eagerly swallowed Dead Boy's cock and even managed not to choke in spite of the fact that I wasn't exactly old hand at that sort of thing. He growled and gripped my hair tightly, taking it as encouragement to ease into my throat until my nose was pressed against his pale, cold skin.

It felt like forever before I felt Eddie's hips pressed flush against me, and against my better judgment I let out a little full-bodied shudder. He let out a deep sigh and his hands slid from my hips to rub along my thighs, rubbing little circles against my skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“You're doing so well, John,” Eddie murmured, stroking my legs. I almost swallowed my tongue. Fuck. _Fuck_. I'd forgotten what that voice could do to me. He started thrusting in and out of me, slow but sure, drawing every motion out as much as possible. If I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I would have said he was just giving me time to adjust. I wasn't feeling that generous— and besides, I knew Eddie too well to think he was doing anything but trying to work me over.

As long as he kept talking to me in that voice, though— I wasn't sure I cared.

Dead Boy, on the other end of the spectrum, wasn't holding back in the slightest. Well, maybe he was a _little_. Dead Boy had a sexual energy unmatched by anyone I had ever met, and I regularly prayed to every god I knew of that I never met anyone worse. The universe can only take so much. He was rather freely thrusting in and out of my throat, and the feeling of being filled at both ends was making me dizzy. That might have also been because I couldn't really breathe properly, but I think the situation was just making me feel poetic, for whatever reason.

I felt one of Eddie's hands wander from my thigh further up my body, lightly stroking and scratching at my skin. His hand moved further as he slid in deeper, until his hips were pressed flush against mine and his hand was cupping the side of my face.

“You really _do_ look good like this, John,” Eddie murmured, mirroring Dead Boy's earlier words. “If only you could see yourself..”

His fingers slipped up under my makeshift blindfold, his fingernails scratching lightly against the underside of my eye. I flinched in spite of myself, and he laughed as he pushed the blindfold back.

My vision was blurry and indistinct from being blindfolded for so long, combined with the room's general darkness, but thankfully I'd always been good at adjusting quickly. I could see Dead Boy looming above me, his smile exactly the sort of predatory grin I was expecting. His fever-bright eyes were practically hazed over with lust, though that might have just been the death sheen showing through. You could never really tell, with Dead Boy. And Eddie.. was Eddie. Gaunt and gray and totally self-satisfied, leaning over me and looking like he wanted to devour me, though I wasn't sure in what way. Knowing Eddie, it could go in either direction.

Remember that earlier metaphor about being a bird caught between two cats? It was starting to feel completely accurate.

I don't think I could have stopped myself from moaning around Dead Boy's cock if I tried, but somehow I doubt he really minded. Eddie was either tired of playing around with me or he was switching tactics, because a quick snap of his hips totally contrary to the slow entry made my entire body light up like a Christmas tree. Every nerve in my body was either singing or on fire, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out. I let out another moan that probably would have sounded right at home in a porno, and I didn’t even care.

“ _Fuck.”_ Dead Boy cursed and pulled out of my throat. I was so far gone that the sudden sensation of emptiness (and the sudden ability to _breathe_ again) was _distressing_ , and this time I actually _did_ whimper. I didn’t have enough pride left to deny it. “Eddie, hold on for a second.”

That was the absolute _last_ thing I wanted. In any other situation I would have made that _perfectly_ clear. But not only was I barely able to string two words together, I wasn’t exactly in a position to be making demands.

If I disappointed Eddie by being disobedient, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle that.

To my distress, Eddie listened to Dead Boy, his thrusts slowing to a stop. I couldn’t stop myself from letting out a frustrated sob. I was _so_ close, but every time I seemed to be almost there, they switched it up on me and denied me my release.

At least I wasn’t blindfolded now. I had... _enjoyed_ that a lot more than I’d thought I would, knowing they could do whatever they wanted to me and I’d never be able to see it coming, but the sight of a flushed Eddie between my legs, cock buried in me, breathing heavily and looking almost as frustrated as I felt, almost made up for the interruption.

Almost.

Dead Boy clambered around on the bed, finally settling by my legs, close to Eddie. He was fumbling around for something, and Eddie was getting more and more annoyed with him.

“Get on with it,” he growled, and Dead Boy just turned to him and grinned.

“Now who’s impatient?”

He had the lube bottle, and squirted a generous amount into his hand. Tossing the bottle aside, he spread it around between his hands almost like shampoo. One hand disappeared behind him and one reached out to stroke my cock.

I bucked up into Dead Boy’s hand. For all my begging and behaving, they hadn’t really been touching me that much-- and I quickly figured out why. At first having Dead Boy touching me, lubing me up generously, was a godsend, until suddenly the over stimulation was just... _too much_. My brain started to go to static, and it was almost more _painful_ than it was pleasurable, as if the two signals were getting mixed up as a result...

“Hold him still,” Dead Boy said, and Eddie obliged, holding me by the hips to keep me pressed to the bed. Dead Boy stopped touching me at the same time, eliminating most of my urge to struggle (even I wasn’t sure whether I was struggling _towards_ his touch or away from it, or maybe a little bit of both), but Eddie’s hands on me would have stopped me instantly anyway.

If I didn’t listen to him, he might _stop._ And no matter what he wanted me to do, there was nothing worse than that possibility.

Dead Boy climbed on top of me, straddling my hips. It was an awkward position since Eddie was between my legs, but Dead Boy was flexible enough to manage. He grinned down at me with one hand pressed against my chest.

The other hand, I realized, was busy fingering himself open. I probably should have figured that out sooner, but in my defence, I was _distracted_.

“Think you can stay still, John?” Dead Boy asked me with a cocky grin. “Because this is already gonna be complicated enough without you squirming around.”

“Y-yeah.” My voice broke in the middle of that, which was embarrassing enough, but it was all I could manage to say. My mouth was totally dry, and I didn’t trust myself not to make any even _more_ embarrassing noises.

I didn’t even know what I was agreeing too, because like I said, I wasn’t all there at the moment. But the way Dead Boy was looking at me, like a five-course dinner he couldn’t wait to pounce on, was enough to make me agree to anything.

Dead Boy lowered himself onto me, and I immediately went back on that.

...or I would have, if the weight of Dead Boy and the pressure from Eddie’s hands didn’t keep me pretty firmly pressed to the bed. I just didn’t have the leverage to move around much; my feet couldn’t find purchase with my legs so _thoroughly_ taken care of, and my arms were still tied behind my back.

“Fuck,” Dead Boy said again. He took me in one smooth motion, leaning forward and putting more weight on the hand on my chest. Dead Boy wasn’t _warm_ like you would expect someone to be—but _fuck_ he more than made up for it with the way he rolled his hips. “You good, John? You still with us?”

He reached up and gave me a pat on the cheek. I swallowed hard past the giant lump in my throat and the dryness in my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut, and nodded.

Dead Boy raised himself up and lowered himself back down with perfect fluidity. I let my eyes fall open, not wanting to miss the sight. As Dead Boy bounced up and down on my cock, his thick dark curls fell into his eyes, his pale mouth falling open in the most perfect sex face I’d ever seen outside of porn.

I wanted to reach out and put my hands on his hips and thrust up into him, but I couldn’t. My arms were _spoken for_.

Somehow, I’d almost forgotten about Eddie; I’d been so focused on Dead Boy that I’d adjusted to him inside of me, and I’d been enjoying the view so much that I didn’t even notice him. Until he apparently decided that Dead Boy had had enough time to set his pace and started moving again.

I felt a spasm go through my entire body. If having Dead Boy jacking me off while Eddie fucked me was too much, this was _unbearable_. I started babbling something, but even I didn’t know what I was saying—I was begging, probably, but for what I wasn’t sure. I wanted to come _so_ badly, but I was almost afraid of it at that point. I didn’t know if my body could take it.

“Shh... Relax, John...” Eddie stroked my thighs, nails lightly scratching against my skin. Now that I could see, I had a terrific view of all the welts and red marks their scratching and scraping had left on me. I was going to be _sore_ tomorrow, in a dozen different ways, but that was normal for me. (This was definitely the most fun way I’d ever ended up battered and exhausted.) “Just let us take care of everything...”

The position was just as awkward as I thought it would be, but Eddie and Dead Boy were managing, and I... didn’t have much choice but to go along for the ride. The two of them managed to sync up their paces without words or gestures or _anything_. Dead Boy’s down stroke was synchronized perfectly with Eddie’s thrusts.

We didn’t say anything; unnecessary words would have just spoiled the moment, or something. (The only sounds I could make at the moment were strangled noises and bitten-off half-curses, but the two of them didn’t have that excuse. Probably. I wouldn’t want to assume. You know what they say about assuming...) I curled my toes into the sheets, tried to keep myself from moving too much-- didn’t want to mess up the rhythm, didn’t want to mess _anything_ up. I wanted to give them every reason to repeat this again, and again...

“Shit.” I let that slip because it was that or make a much less dignified noise. “I need-- _fuck_. I’m so, so close. I need to come, _please_.”

“Sounds pretty greedy of you, John.” Dead Boy was still grinning at me, but there was a hungry glimmer in his eyes that had absolutely nothing to do with their usual death sheen. “I’m not even-- nn-- anywhere _near_ done yet. What about you, Eddie?”

“We _have_ been teasing him a _lot_.”

“Eddiiiiieee…”

In any other situation I would have taken the piss out of the way Dead Boy whined, but that would have been a real pot calling the kettle black situation considering the sort of noises _I_ had made so far. Also, I still couldn’t manage any _words_ at the moment.

“Hush.” Eddie grabbed Dead Boy’s curls and pulled his head back, exposing Dead Boy’s throat. Dead Boy let out a low moan, and his eyelashes fluttered.

I knew they were putting on a show for my benefit, that this was entirely staged. I didn’t care. All I knew was that the sight of Dead Boy staring at me from under hooded eyelids while Eddie fastened his teeth into his neck was almost enough to push me over the edge right then and there.

“Let’s be nice,” Eddie said-- no, _purred_ into Dead Boy’s throat. His bite didn’t change the colour of his dead skin, but it _did_ leave such a clear imprint of his teeth marks that you could have sculpted a model of them. It distracted me so much that I didn’t even have time to think about how unusual hearing _those words_ out of _Razor Eddie’s_ mouth was. “We don’t want to scare him off…”

I doubted they could scare me off, no matter what they did. If they _could_ scare me off, they would have done so a _long_ time ago. But anything that got me closer to getting off, I wasn’t going to argue with.

“And what about me?” Dead Boy stopped moving, which was the closest thing to torture I could imagine at that exact moment. I grumbled (which unfortunately came out as a whine) to let them know my displeasure-- which they ignored.

“I think I can handle you,” Eddie said, voice still low enough to be more vibration than sound. Dead Boy actually _shuddered_ \-- although it was probably just for the drama. “Of course, that all depends on whether John _deserves_ that kind of generosity…”

Eddie settled his chin against Dead Boy’s shoulder and reached out to cup my face in his hand. I shuddered and let out a raspy breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding in.

“Well, John? What do you say?” His thumb traced over my cheekbone and I shuddered again.

The two of them staring at me like that made me feel completely vulnerable. I had been naked and tied up for a while-- but nothing made me feel so completely, _truly_ under their control as the two of them staring down at me expectantly with a sparkle in their eyes, like a dog licking its chops while it stared at a juicy steak.

“Please…” I said, but it came out as nothing more than the tiniest whisper. I cleared my throat, which set off a coughing fit; Dead Boy reached out to rub my chest, but while it was a nice gesture, the grin on his face sort of defeated it.

I tried again.

“Please,” I said, my voice sounding nice and raspy, but at least you could _hear_ it. “Please let me come, I’ll do whatever you want… Please…”

Okay, so begging wasn’t really any better than whining-- but I would have juggled on a unicycle if they’d told me to. My pride was _long_ gone.

“Look at me,” said Eddie, and I was powerless to resist the command. “Keep your eyes on me-- I want to see your face when you come.”

That was a lot harder than it sounded. Eddie’s piercing gaze on me made me want to avert my eyes; like instinctively looking away from the car that was about to run you over, or the predator that was about to maul you to bits. But if that was his only request, I couldn’t say no.

The smallest twitch of Eddie’s hips made my entire body light up like a switchboard; I bit my lower lip and fought the urge to look away, even though I felt a twinge in my neck with the strain.

Dead Boy, who seemed unhappy with the fact that he wouldn’t get to torment me as much as he wanted, wasn’t moving-- like he was protesting Eddie giving me what I wanted, even though earlier _he_ had been the one going against _Eddie_ because he didn’t like the slow pace he was setting.

I wondered if maybe Eddie wasn’t trying to get back at him a little. I wondered what the two of them were like when they were alone. But most of all I didn’t wonder anything, because my brain had gone to pure white noise and the only thought that could make it through that was how badly I wanted to come.

I had no idea if Dead Boy got tired of just sitting there being ignored-- because I had eyes only for Eddie, and Eddie was watching me to make sure I listened-- but after what could have been moments, or could have been minutes, he grumbled and started moving again, at his own pace. It was wildly offset from Eddie’s-- not the synchronized movements that they’d had before-- and it made the already awkward pose we had to be in to make this work even more straining for me, but I couldn’t care less.

I looked right at Eddie. And even when I felt all of the muscles in the lower half of my body tense up in anticipation, even when all of the breath rushed out of me and I started to let out little gasps like a fish pulled from the water, my vision swimming from a lack of oxygen, I looked at Eddie.

Because Eddie had told me to. And that was all I had ever needed.

When I came, it felt like every nerve in my body was on _fire_. Like someone had just jammed a taser into my neck, but instead of pain, it delivered pleasure-- a pleasure so intense it almost _became_ pain. I screamed, I sobbed-- I could be ashamed of it later, but that that moment I was powerless to resist my own urges. I thrusted my hips up, I forced myself back onto Eddie’s cock-- I wanted to be as close to both of them as I possibly could, and even with my arms still bound up, I made every effort. Even ones that probably hindered more than helped.

And when it was over-- which was after _forever_ but also felt way too soon-- I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, tossed into a ditch, run over again, and then stomped on for good measure. And yet I couldn’t be happier. Every part of me felt like I was melting right into the couch, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon-- not the rest of the night, possibly not even the rest of _tomorrow_.

Not even Suzie had ever exhausted me this much, and more than once our lovemaking had required emergency first aid afterwards.

I tried to say something-- maybe a thank you, or maybe something equally as humiliating and dorky-- but it felt like my throat was swollen shut and my lungs were completely empty. Combined with the way my vision was blurred, it was almost like that feeling after you get hit hard in the head and all of the breath rushes out of you.

I was only half-aware of the fact that Eddie immediately pulled out. I was grateful, of course, but I was _well_ past the point of oversensitivity regardless… On the other hand, I was _much_ more aware of Dead Boy climbing off of me, if only because I hadn’t realized how cramped and trapped I was, despite how skinny and light _he_ was.

With Dead Boy off of me, Eddie carefully maneuvered himself out from underneath me, leaving me lying on the bed with my legs spread. I couldn’t have moved them if I tried. My hands were still tied-- they tied my wrists well enough to keep me bound without cutting off circulation, but the fact that I’d been lying on them for so long had left the tips of my fingers numb and tingling. Part of me even wanted to roll over and immediately go to sleep, but…

Dead Boy made a sound like a mewling cat that I _had_ to look over at. I could barely muster up the energy to turn my head, but I couldn’t _not_ look at a sound like that.

Eddie was sitting with his legs folded under him, and had Dead Boy pulled back into his lap. His teeth were fixed in Dead Boy’s throat; since Dead Boy normally couldn’t feel something like that, he must have been biting pretty hard. He was definitely enjoying it; he was biting his lip and grinning underneath it, and kept making that same noise.

“Hands and knees,” Eddie said so softly I could hardly hear him over the roaring in my ears from how tired I was-- although it wasn’t _for_ me in the first place.

I’d never known Dead Boy to be a pushover in bed-- or even cooperative in the most _basic_ sense. When he was on the bottom, he liked to fight and be as much of a brat as he could be. For him, that was all part of the fun.

When Eddie told him to do something, though-- he did it. He didn’t so much as fuss, just slipped off of Eddie’s lap to fold himself over on his hands and knees. I caught his eye and he gave me a wink and a grin.

It didn’t matter who you were-- when Razor Eddie told you to do something, you did it.

I heard the _snap_ of a bottle cap as Eddie lubed himself up again. Dead Boy ran his tongue over his lips even though it wouldn’t do anything. I swallowed, hard; my mouth had gone dry, and even though I was so tired that all I wanted to do was roll over and sleep, I couldn’t take my eyes off what I was about to see.

Eddie ran his hand over Dead Boy’s back, encouraging him to arch it. Dead Boy took it one step further and stretched out like a cat, pillowing his head in his arms.

Eddie slid into him smoothly, and Dead Boy made that _sound_ again that made a shiver go up my spine. Eddie’s hand landed on the back of Dead Boy’s head, fingers curling into his hair and pulling his head up so he was facing forward instead of having his face buried into the mattress.

Today was the first time I’d learned of them even _having_ this kind of relationship-- it had confused the Hell out of me, because the two of them didn’t seem like they had anything in common, and they had never seemed to get along all that well when I called on both of them for their help.

Now I could see _exactly_ why their relationship worked. And watching it made me feel _dirty_ and _excited_ all at once.

Eddie draped himself over Dead Boy’s back, one hand still in his hair and the other hand on his hip. He said something right into Dead Boy’s ear-- too quiet for me to hear, but it must have pleased Dead Boy, because he moaned low and trailed it off into a whimper.

Then he bit him again and Dead Boy threw his head even further back, digging his teeth so hard into his lower lip that he would probably be bleeding if he did that anymore. I could see the bite mark Eddie had left with the first bite; even though Dead Boy didn’t bleed or bruise, he had bitten him hard enough to leave solid teeth imprints, so clear you could have made a mould of them.

The pace Eddie was setting was fast, and rough, and lacking in any rhythm I could see, but Dead Boy didn’t care. In fact, I doubted Dead Boy cared about _anything_ at that moment except coming. I could sympathize with him, but at the same time I pitied him for not seeing what _I_ could see at the moment.

Eddie lifted his head from Dead Boy’s shoulder, let go of his hair, and grabbed his other hip. He had his head bowed so his chin was resting against his chest, his mouth hanging open, his face flushed… And to top it all off, his eyes were half-lidded but still fever-bright, making him look like he was starving and Dead Boy was a buffet for him alone.

It was one of the most mouth-watering, stunning things I had ever seen-- and if I was being honest, I was jealous, seeing him look at someone other than _me_ like that.

Dead Boy let out another porn-perfect moan, letting his head fall back to the bed now that Eddie wasn’t holding it up. He pillowed his head in his arms and arched his back even further; it couldn’t have been comfortable, but then, that usually wasn’t a problem for Dead Boy. He must have already been close, because he was bucking his hips in time with Eddie’s thrusts.

He had his eyes closed, but either he felt my eyes on him or it was just good timing, because he opened them and looked me dead in the eye. A grin slowly grew on his face. I swallowed hard; the two of them alone had my stomach doing flips, and seeing them together… Well, I wasn’t sure I would survive the next five minutes, nevermind the night.

Dead Boy’s moans morphed into high-pitched whines. I recognized the sound; it meant he was getting close. Eddie’s breathing was getting heavy, too-- and when he leaned forward again to sink his teeth into Dead Boy’s neck for the third time, I knew it was almost over.

“Getting close?” I couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a question or a statement, because Dead Boy forgot to take a proper breath beforehand, and so his voice was hollow and whistling with no inflection. Eddie murmured something into his flesh, though, so he must have assumed it was directed at him either way.

Eddie slipped his hand around and under Dead Boy to jerk him off as his pace picked up even further. The entire bed rattled and each thrust sent Dead Boy forward by inches until he was pressed right against the headboard; all I could hear was panting and whining and I couldn’t even tell who was making what noise anymore.

Dead Boy came first; I saw his entire body tense up and he cried out, not bothering to stifle his voice at all. Eddie slammed his hips against Dead Boy’s so hard I thought they were going to break the bed; then, finally, he let out a deep sigh and stopped, releasing Dead Boy’s shoulder from the grip of his teeth.

Eddie pulled out and sat back on his heels, breathing heavily. Even in the dim light I could see the sheen of sweat on his body, and he shivered gently, which made me shiver in turn. Dead Boy made a sound almost like a cat purring and rolled over so he was lying on his back, stretching out. It was a good thing the bed was so big, because he decided to lie spread-eagle, taking up most of the space.

He turned to look at me and grinned. “Hey there,” he said.

“Hey,” I said. My voice was hoarse and breathy. I was still reeling from what I had just watched. I had no idea how Dead Boy was feeling… _himself_ enough to just be _talking_ to me. I could hardly _think_ , nevermind form those thoughts into words.

Then again… He was Dead Boy. So maybe that was all the explanation that was needed.

He scooched closer to me, pressing up against me side by side. The clamminess of his skin made me shiver. I suddenly felt _very_ cold, like I was naked in the middle of winter… Which wasn’t far off. Dead Boy didn’t seem to have central heating. Not that that surprised me.

“Enjoy the show?” Dead Boy asked with one of his shit-eating grins.

“I would have enjoyed it more if I had a hand free,” I quipped back, even though that was a complete fiction. I could barely move; I definitely didn’t have the energy to jerk off, no matter how much I had _enjoyed_ watching them.

“Poor baby,” Dead Boy said, _mocking_ me with a childish pout that-- thankfully-- turned back into a cheeky grin pretty quickly. “Here, turn over.”

I didn’t argue; I just rolled over onto my side with my back facing Dead Boy. He quickly undid the knots they’d tied my ruined shirt into, and tossed the shreds of fabric off to the side.

I sighed, although it sounded… A little more intense than a sigh, which made Dead Boy laugh. I ignored him, which was a skill I had spent a lot of years developing. It’s not like I could help it; my hands had been tied up for so long that, before tonight, I would have described the feeling of the tingling sensation in my fingers as feeling started to come back as almost orgasmic.

That would be doing a disservice to what I had just been through, though. I was almost convinced they had ruined me for sex with anyone else, even though I knew that was just hyperbole.

I rolled back over and let myself melt into the mattress, folding my now free hands over my stomach. The tingling in my fingers had changed into a pricking pain as feeling came back to them, but it was an almost pleasant feeling. No idea if it was because my hands had been tied up for so long, or if my brain was just so clouded by pleasure that it was getting wires crossed.

“One and done, eh, John?” Dead Boy laughed at me again. I lifted my hand and flipped him the bird, which just made him laugh harder.

The bed shifted and something heavy dropped onto it next to me, on the side opposite Dead Boy. I cracked one eye open and turned my head as little as possible to take a look.

“Hey,” I said again.

“Hello,” Eddie replied.

I was sure he looked better than me at the moment— because I was _sure_ I looked like shit, considering how exhausted I _felt_ — but seeing him even a little bit out of it was jarring. I mean, no one would describe Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor, a man who slept on doorsteps or in a half-rotted cardboard box and wore a coat that I’m pretty sure was not _originally_ grey— as looking perfect, by any stretch. But he always looked… _Composed_. Even when he was cutting someone into a thousand individual pieces, he never looked bothered.

His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and the whole of his body was covered in a sheen of it. His breathing was heavier than normal— it was subtle, but you could see it when you were looking at his chest. He was so thin, it was easy to see how it was rising and falling like he was out of breath. There was a subtle blush to his skin, already starting to fade, but he was a pretty shade of pinkish-red all over…

I was definitely jealous. I could never remember him looking this amazing when it was just the two of us. Did it just tire him out to deal with both me and Dead Boy? I realized that was the obvious answer, but I still couldn’t help but feel envious.

“We should probably get cleaned up.” That was something I didn’t expect to hear from _Razor Eddie_ , but even if the source was shocking, he was right. Both of us were drenched in sweat, I had my cum drying in a sticky mess on my stomach, and Dead Boy had Eddie’s inside of him. We could all use a shower…

The thought of getting up right now, though? Seemed completely impossible. My legs were like noodles; I was pretty sure if I tried to stand up, I would end up face down on the floor. And even though Eddie was being weirdly generous, I doubted he wanted to carry me to the bathroom and _bathe_ me. So I just gave a grunt and decided that would be a problem for me to deal with at a later time. A much more difficult problem, but I wasn’t really concerned about that right now-- the story of my life, honestly.

I let my eyes slide shut, settling in. I hadn’t planned on staying the night. Hell, even though I knew dates with Dead Boy usually ended _kind of_ like this, I _never_ made plans to stay the night-- it was hard to manage a sleepover with someone who didn’t sleep, even when he decided to crash on my couch when he was bored and had nothing better to do. I wondered if Suzie would wonder where I was. I doubted it. She probably wouldn’t even come home and notice I was missing…

Dead Boy scooted in closer, kicking at the covers until he eventually just sat up and pulled them loosely up and over the three of us. He moved in until his head was resting against my shoulder. I shivered at the touch of his cold skin; now that I wasn’t _on fire_ , and my sweat had dried on my skin and made me even colder, I wasn’t the biggest fan. But since I was crashing in his bed and he had just tucked me in, I didn’t figure I had any room to argue about it.

(He would get bored sooner or later, anyway.)

On the other side of me, Eddie curled up close, tucking in against my other shoulder. Whereas with Dead Boy, the problem was the temperature, with Eddie the problem was the smell; I didn’t notice it at all when I was too busy being absolutely ravished by the two of them (and it wasn’t nearly as bad as when he was wearing his coat, which had its own horrific smell entirely separate from the man himself), but it was… Bad.

(Not that I wasn’t used to it. I’d known Eddie for years. We’d slept like this more than once. But that didn’t make it pleasant.)

Trapped between a cold rock and a smelly place, but I could manage-- and even keep all of the griping in my own head, I was pretty sure. I was much more interested in getting some sleep.

“So?”

In fact, I was so eager to get to sleep that I almost completely missed Dead Boy talking to me, until he got up on one elbow and poked me firmly in the chest. I cracked one eye open and tried to glare at him. I wasn’t sure it worked; I probably just looked like I was stoned out of my mind.

“So what?” I raised my eyebrow at him and went for a sort of exhausted exasperation. Again, I didn’t think it was super effective, since even my face muscles didn’t want to cooperate with me.

“Glad you came out tonight?” he asked, drawing random patterns on my skin with the tip of his finger.

“A lot more glad than I thought I would be,” I answered, and Dead Boy laughed.

“Spoilsport,” he said, and that made Eddie laugh against my shoulder.

“I think he’s going to need a few repeat performances before we fully convince him,” he said, muffled by my skin.

“If you try to give me one right now, I might actually die,” I admitted. “With a smile on my face, but…”

“Don’t worry; we’ll let you off easy just this once.” When Dead Boy settled back into my shoulder, he gave me a quick nip, just hard enough to hurt. In case I had forgotten who I was dealing with, I guess. “But next time, you should come prepared.”

I didn’t want to _think_ about what ‘coming prepared’ could mean. I guess it must have showed, because Eddie reached across me to give Dead Boy a warning tap.

“Don’t scare him off,” he said, but he sounded more amused than like he was giving him a real warning.

I glanced back and forth between the two of them. Dead Boy had a lazy grin on his face; Eddie was staring at me the way a starving man stares at a filet mignon. I knew from the looks on both of their faces that Dead Boy wasn’t kidding; they had been going easy on me, and if I let them, they would absolutely _wreck_ me.

Just the thought sent a thrill through me that was impossible to describe.

“You couldn’t do that if you tried,” I said, and meant it.

  


(Aftermath: an excerpt.)

“Seriously, boss. How did you manage this?”

Cathy paused in her surprisingly expert massage of my shoulders to peer over me and give me a questioning look. The sort of look that told me she wanted answers, and she wasn’t going to stop until she got them.

“Trust me,” I said with a wince as the stiffness in my shoulders took hold again, and I had flashbacks of having my arms tied together and pinned under my body weight until I lost all feeling in my fingers. “You don’t want to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope someone, somewhere, enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, folks, the next chapter gets to the Good Stuff.


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